100 Prompts Challenge FrUK
by ThatLoyalHufflepuff
Summary: A collection of drabbles from the 100 Prompt Challenged, all based on FrUK! I will try to keep everything rated up to T, but genres and ratings will vary from chapter to chapter. Warnings will be posted at the start of each chapter if necessary. More details inside, as obviously I can't put everything here :) R&R please? Human names used.
1. Chapter 1: Beginning

******AN: So here is prompt 1! The prompt for this is 'beginning'. I apologise if my French is wrong, and translations will be posted at the end of the chapter~ Feel free to correct my if there are any errors ^^"**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

Francis smiled, watching the subtle movement of Arthur's shoulders as he slept. He reached over, softly moving Arthur's sandy blond hair out of his eyes. He leaned towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to the Brit's forehead. He was so cute when he was asleep. Francis trailed his fingers over Arthur's arm, stopping to hold his hand. His head twisted round, looking at the clock which stood on his bedside table. It was midnight. He grinned, turning back to Arthur.

Today was their anniversary. Their second anniversary. They had been together for two years. 730 days. 104 weeks. 24 months. Two whole years.

Settling under the sheets, he leaned close to Arthur. "Joyeux deuxième anniversaire, mon amour." He closed his eyes, falling asleep to Arthur's steady breathing.

* * *

The alarm buzzed loudly at eight am. Arthur's green eyes fluttered open. He blinked twice, adjusting to the bright light streaming through the room. He yawned, stretching.

"Francis" He muttered, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "Alarm." There was no tired grunt, nor the alarm being turned off. Arthur reached his hand out, only to discover an empty bed, still slightly warm from Francis' body. He turned quickly, slamming his hand down on the button on the top of the alarm clock. He scrambled out of bed, quickly walking to the bathroom. He nudged open the door. Nope. No Francis. He ran his hand over his hair, before making his way downstairs. The familiar smell of breakfast wafted through his nose, and he sighed in relief. He padded through to the kitchen, his eyes falling on the handsome Frenchman that he had the honour to call his boyfriend. He stopped in the doorway, taking an opportunity to admire him.

Francis faced the other way, still cooking. His wavy blond hair was in need of a cut, so it swished more than normal in his high ponytail. The sunlight shone through his hair, creating a sort of halo around him. His apron took him in at the waist, emphasising his strong shoulders. The muscles in his forearms twisted as he lifted the frying pan, his shirt sleeves folded up neatly. Speaking of Francis' shirt, he happened to be wearing that Arthur loved on him. It was pale blue, almost lilac, and complimented Francis' eyes perfectly. His black slacks hung elegantly from his hips, draping over the curve of his behind in a way that made Arthur smirk. They weren't that tight, but somehow managed to highlight the gentle muscle in Francis legs.

Francis turned, sensing someone watching him. He caught sight of a freshly awoken Englishman admiring him. He smiled widely, laughing slightly. "And you call me the creep." The sunlight danced across his flawless skin, his pink lips taut against his white, even teeth as he smiled. His azure blue eyes sparkled with happiness, highlighted by his long, black eyelashes. Arthur's lips parted in slight awe. Of course, he knew Francis was stunning, but sometimes it hit him more than others. Especially like this, when Francis _wasn't _making his perverted comments, or trying to get into bed with him. When he was just... Living. Just smiling, laughing, joking and being the perfect boyfriend. It made him so much more beautiful.

Arthur rolled his eyes in response, crossing the room to sit down at the dining table. He pulled out a chair, turning it so it faced Francis. With a tired stretch, he sat down. "I'm not creeping. Just watching. Why are you up so early?"

Francis shrugged, turning over one of the crêpes he was baking. "No reason... I woke up and thought I'd treat you to breakfast." He smiled his beautiful smile over to Arthur, who blushed slightly in return. Arthur dropped his gaze to the table. Francis laughed softly, reaching over to switch the kettle on. He assumed that Arthur needed tea.

Ten minutes later, they were both seated at the table, eating. Arthur still wasn't dressed, and Francis was admiring how his messy hair made him look far less grumpy.

"Quit staring, frog."

"I'm not staring, just watching~" Francis mimicked Arthur's words from earlier, blowing a kiss at him. Arthur shot him a playful glare, before returning to his food. His left hand lay on the table, his right stabbing his breakfast with a fork. Francis transferred his own fork to his left hand, before walking his fingers over to tangle them in Arthur's.

"Arthur..."

"Francis."

"Do you remember when we first met?"

Arthur's eyes widened, as he smiled slightly. "Of course I do..." Francis grinned in return, looking down at his plate.

"Good~ I'll tell you a secret." Arthur's eyes shot up to meet his. Francis squeezed his hand gently. "It's nothing bad... It's just that the reason I got up so early this morning is because... I spent about 'alf an 'our just thinking about the first time I met you."

* * *

It was a crisp autumn day. The country of France was new, and Francis was young. He walked aimlessly through a forest, kicking leaves as he went. His shoulder length blond hair bounced as he walked. He wobbled his way across a fallen tree branch that acted as a bridge over a ditch, his blue tunic flying up slightly. He skipped off into the new part of the forest, humming _Alouette_ as he went. He made his way over to a huge pile of leaves, speeding up, ready to jump into it. He halted at the last second, hearing muttering and giggling. He whipped his head around, his eyes wide with shock. "Qui est là?!" He called, looking around the forest. The muttering stopped, as the pile of leaves in front of him shuffled. Francis stepped back, his breath catching in his chest.

A pair of leaf green eyes appeared between some gaps in the leaves. They blinked, before a small hand pushed the leaves away. A child. It was a child. He looked to be a few years younger than Francis himself. Francis furrowed his brow, looking at him curiously.

A few tense seconds passed, before the child bared his teeth and attempted to growl aggressively. Francis giggled at him, crouching down. "Comment t'appelle tu?" The child looked at him curiously, shrinking back into the leaves. Francis leaned his hand out to touch the child, wanting to reassure him. "Non... Enfant, c'est bon... Je suis sympa!" The child froze, staring out its hand. It raised their chubby fingers, swatting Francis' hand away. Francis sighed, sitting down. He watched the child, until they crawled towards him. The green eyed child sat on the grass in front of him, those intense eyes searching his face. His plump hands reached out, running over his hair. Francis smiled in return as the child played with is hair.

"Engwand." The child said. Francis turned to him, confused.

"Quoi?"

The child pointed to himself, looking into Francis' eyes. "Engwand!"

Francis nodded, understanding. He lay a hand on his chest. "France." He held his hand out to the boy, who stared at it again. After a few seconds, Francis gently took the boy's opposite hand, guiding it to his own. He grasped it softly, shaking it.

"Je suis enchantée de faire votre connaissance, England."

* * *

**Translations:**

**Joyeux deuxième anniversaire, mon amour. - **Happy second anniversary, my love.  
**Qui est là? - **Who is there?  
**Comment t'appelle tu? - **What is your name?  
**Non... Enfant, c'est bon... Je suis sympa! - **No... Child, it's good... I'm nice!  
**Quoi? - **What?  
**Je suis enchantée de faire votre connaissance - **I am pleased to meet you/ I am delighted to make your acquaintance.


	2. Chapter 2: Middle

**AN: I am alive! I have in no way abandoned this challenge in case anyone was wondering, I just have a lot going on and this was a really hard prompt for me. It's just fluffy FrUK, where France and England sneak out of a World Meeting, only to find a certain nation doesn't cope well in the heat of a Spanish summer. R&R if you want, since I'd love feedback because I don't think this is my best work D: If the ending seems a bit rushed, its because I have a load I should be doing but wanted to get this out in celebration of FrUK Day~**

* * *

Middle

Francis drummed his fingertips on the table, blowing a stray piece of blond hair out of his face. He daydreamed, the deep drone of Germany's voice forming a sort of background noise. He sighed, his eyelids drooping slightly. He could quite happily fall asleep right now.

A hand slid into his view. He stared at it, watching it pull away and reveal a folded piece of paper. With a confused expression, he reached out, opening it. In loopy, slightly messy handwriting, was a note addressed to him:

'Frog. I can see you falling asleep. How about we just skip this meeting and go somewhere else?  
- England'

Francis smirked, glancing over to the Brit who was acting oblivious. He turned the paper over, writing a quick reply before sliding it across to him.

'I'd love to, but we're right in the middle of it. Won't we get told off or something?  
~ France'

Francis could feel Arthur roll his eyes in response. He waited; this note was longer than the previous one. When it was placed in front of him, he paused for a few seconds, before peeking down at it. Somehow, no one had noticed their very obvious note passing. This was a miracle, seeing as hardly any nations were even paying attention to Germany.

'Since when did you care about following Germany's rules? Here's the plan. I'll excuse myself for the bathroom in a few minutes. Wait ten minutes, then you do the same. Meet me in the foyer, beside the water fountain. Okay? Good.  
-England."

Francis didn't respond to the note, only nodded. He knew Arthur would be watching him out of the corner of his eye, just to see if he would respond. So, he waited. His mind drifted elsewhere, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Some of the nations that lived in colder areas shifted uncomfortably, the Spanish summer's heat surrounding them. Francis was used to this, seeing as he was neighbours with Spain and had this sort of weather himself. He chuckled softly, catching sight of Arthur squirming. The Englishman's idea of summer was the Spaniard's version of spring.

* * *

Exactly five minutes passed, and Arthur stood up. Heads snapped towards him, and he politely excused himself as the nations resumed their previous positions. Francis noticed that the Brit had taken his bag with him, assuming that they would not be returning once they sneaked out. The reason why he was so apprehensive is because he'd done this before; he and Spain had sneaked out to meet Prussia. Germany, of course, yelled at them and issued them the punishment of clearing up the meeting room after the conference was over. Surprisingly, it got very messy, especially round a certain northern Italian's seat. He picked up his pen, absentmindedly doodling around his notes. After his required ten minutes, he slipped his pen into his bag, his hand underneath the strap. He silently stood, indicating that he also needed the bathroom.

Quietly slipping out of the room, he closed the door behind him. His footsteps were quick as the adrenaline pumped through him. He made his way through the hall, spotting a blond head leaning on the wall next to the water fountain. He made his way over, his shoes clicking against the polished floor. He grinned excitedly, poking Arthur's face once they were close enough.

"Took you long enough- and don't poke me!" Was the reply, Arthur swatting at his hand. He scowled, already in a bad mood thanks to the heat. The Englishman stood, turning towards the doors and quickly leaving the building, Francis trailing behind him. As soon as they left the building, they were hit with bright sunlight. Arthur screwed his face up, squinting as he looked at the ground. He huffed, immediately regretting choosing to wear a dark blue suit that day. Francis, on the other hand, seemed to not even notice the sun, skipping down the steps with ease. Arthur followed, before dragging him across the street, hiding from the sun's glare under the shadow of some trees.

"Arthur, mon cher, the 'otel's the other way. I'm guessing you want to get out of the sun-" Francis' voice called out to him, patronisingly caring. Arthur whirled around, glaring.

"I do not! I'm fine, okay!" His pale face was flushed, and his hair was beginning to get sticky with sweat. He panted for a second, before balling his fists up and stomping in the direction of the hotel. "Fine. But not because you suggested it! Just because I want some bloody air conditioning."

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were settled in Arthur's hotel suite. Francis had invited the Englishman to his, but Arthur didn't trust him, and wanted the comfort of his own room. Francis obeyed, not wanting to test his heat induced bad mood. The French nation looked around from his place on the sofa, hearing Arthur fidgeting behind him. He appeared to be debating whether or not taking his suit jacket off would be a sign of weakness. To make him feel better, Francis slid his own off, draping it over the back of his chair. He unbuttoned a third button on his shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. He lifted his hips, digging in his pockets for a silk hair ribbon. He stood, tilting his head back to scoop his hair into a high ponytail. He froze, aware of eyes watching him. He turned, smirking at the uncomfortable Brit.

"Can I 'elp you?" He held in a laugh, watching Arthur attempt to pretend he wasn't watching the other.  
"No." With that, he grabbed the remote for the air conditioning, turning it up full volume. He frowned, standing in front of the vent, sighing contentedly when the cool air washed over him. Slowly, he slid his blazer off, revealing his once crisp white shirt, now sticking to his skin with sweat. He hesitated, before sliding off his tie, draping his clothing over a chair.

"Frog."  
"Oui?"  
"Go in the kitchen and don't come out until I call you."  
With confusion, Francis obeyed, leaning against the counter. His gaze wandered, out the window, where he watched the people go about their business. The streets were emptying, the afternoon sun too much for the public. He exhaled slowly, untucking his shirt in an attempt to cool himself more.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned, to face a more appropriately dressed English nation. He smiled slightly, noting how the other appeared to be both cooler and in a better mood. Arthur's grey t-shirt suited him perfectly, and Francis found himself admiring the Brit, his eyes roving over the pale skin and small form of the other, which he had memorised. Even before this 'sort of relationship' that they had, he had always found a sort of beauty in Arthur. He didn't realise how long he had been staring until a blushing male poked his face, muttering for him to stop. Francis took his hand, pulling him closer to wrap his arms around Arthur's slim waist in a gentle hug.

Arthur squirmed, gently patting his arm. "Francis... It's too hot..." He pulled away, guilty. "Sorry, but... I can't..." He shrugged, still feeling sticky and like he was drowning in the humid heat. Francis nodded, turning back to the window quickly. Arthur grinned, noticing that Francis' usually perfect hair had frizzed out, leaving his normally sleek ponytail resembling a fox's tail. He reached up, combing his fingers through it, only to realise he was making it worse. He pulled one end of the purple ribbon, letting his hair fall free. Francis pouted, turning back to him.

"Stop. It'll frizz..." His hand nervously pushed it back, grimacing.  
"Too late. It already has." Arthur chuckled, his fingers running over the soft strands, ignoring the protests of the other. Francis, as a way to get the other to leave his hair alone, placed his hands on Arthur's waist. He lifted him up, gently placing him on his shoulder. Laughing at the yells of shock and the insults spewing from the other's lips, he carried him to the living room, lying Arthur down on the sofa. He stole the ribbon back, re-tying his puffy hair out. With a sigh, he realised it probably wouldn't return to normal until that evening, only for the same thing to happen the next day. He sat next to Arthur's head, stroking his choppy hair. He glanced at the clock, checking the time.

"Angleterre, why don't you sleep? It's what everyone that lives 'ere does at this time, since it's too 'ot." His blue eyes met Arthur's forest green ones, concern showing through. Arthur glanced up, considering it. He sighed, running a hand over his eyes.  
"Alright. But won't you be bored?" Francis shook his head, smiling. He could amuse himself for an hour or two. He could even do that paperwork that was due yesterday, since he'd only put off doing it if he didn't do it now. He leant over, gently kissing Arthur's cheek. He stood up, patting his shoulder. Arthur rolled onto his side, closing his eyes as Francis quietly walked to the table, pulling his paperwork and a pen from his suitcase.

* * *

Two hours later, Arthur stretched, yawning. He glanced around, noting how it was cooler and the sun wasn't pounding its way through the windows. Sitting up, he looked for Francis, spotting him at the table, piles of paper around him. He laughed once, thinking to himself that Francis really should wear his glasses more often. Of course, the vain Frenchman only wore them for completing paperwork, thinking they made him look old and boring. Arthur, on the other hand, secretly loved how the black frames highlighted his azure eyes, also drawing attention to his angular cheekbones.

Francis' gaze left the forms he was filling in about farming, hearing the soft chuckle. He smiled, sliding his glasses off. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, placing them on the table. "Morning~" He purred, shooting Arthur a flirty smile. He pushed the chair back, reaching his hands towards the Englishman. Arthur slowly stood, shuffling over to Francis. Francis' fingers tangled with his, and he reached up to gently kiss his lips. Arthur blushed, the skin across his nose and cheeks tinged pink. With a smile, Francis pulled him onto his lap, cuddling him. He tried not to hold him too much, just resting a hand on his hip, for fear of overheating him again. Arthur's hand nervously curled round Francis' waist, his forehead leaning on his shoulder.

"I'm considering skipping tomorrow's meeting, too. I got far more work done than if I 'ad just sat there~" Arthur smiled in amusement, shrugging.  
"I would, but I don't feel like receiving Germany's wrath. We should say we both fainted from heat stroke or got lost in the toilet or something."  
"Lost in the toilet?"  
"It could happen."  
"Right..."

Francis shook his head, laughing gently at Arthur's excuses. Obviously he'd have to teach him the art of working his way out of punishments.


	3. Chapter 3: End

**AN: Sorry this is so short! Its one of those chapters that gets straight to the point, and it didn't quite work when I expanded on it. No human names in this one, for some reason. Just mindless FrUK fluff~** **Let me know what you think if you'd like uwu**

* * *

It was no secret that France and England - despite everything - were closer than nations usually were. They had known each other for centuries. They had been neighbours, friends, enemies and lovers; sometimes all at once. They had fought with and against each other, always resolving their differences. They bickered endlessly, defending each other when someone else stepped in. They comforted each other when needed. England had lost count of the times he'd held France as he cried, rocking him gently, the way France did for him when he was younger. France recalled endless nights, trying to repair the self doubt and wounded pride of the English nation. After everything, they would always be there for each other. Whether that was nights of making love, pouring their emotions into one act, or allying in wars. It included hours spent with their arms wrapped around each other, lips locked in deep kisses. It included their arguments, trying to better the other in an act of stubborn pride. France referred to their arguments as a 'bonding exercise'. After all, why else would you argue with someone for days - sometimes months - over the same topic if you didn't love them? Why would they bother with each other's problems and feelings if they didn't care? When they thought no one was looking, their deep affection for each other was clear. At parties, they would pair off together towards the end of the night, their cuddles and kisses hidden by the shadows of a corner. France would flit between messing around with his friends and stealing small kisses from England when everyone was distracted. Prussia and Spain would give each other knowing looks, smiling slightly. The pair would sit close on movie nights that the other nations sometimes held. France would slip closer as the night continued, curling up on the Englishman's lap. England's hand would fit around his waist, France's arms locked around his neck as he occasionally peppered his cheek in feather-light kisses. Canada would hear their whispered words, often containing sweet confessions of love. The Canadian would smile, reminding themselves that they didn't actually hate each other. He would nudge his American brother, tilting his head to indicate to the pair. They would both quietly coo over them, before turning their attention back to the movie playing. After all, everyone knew it. Everyone knew that deep down, they were in love with each other. And they would always love each other, until the end of time. 


	4. Chapter 4: Hours

**AN: Sorry this is so late! I lost inspiration for a lot of my stories, and I just never got round to uploading this. I had planned to write loads over the summer, but I lost track of time and now there's only two weeks(ish) left and yeah. Sorry. All the same, I hope you enjoy this and reviews are always welcome!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

* * *

That morning had been… Different. It left Francis suspicious all day. Arthur had barely spoken to him, refusing to give him a goodbye kiss, even refusing a hug. He left for 'work', driving in the opposite direction than usual. Of course, Arthur didn't _know_Francis had noticed all of this; the Frenchman was rather good at secretly noticing things. Something was up, and he was going to find out.

So, when he was leaving the local café with Antonio and Gilbert, and he happened to notice Arthur hurriedly walking back to his car, he stopped, watching. Was that…? _No._ It couldn't be! That bundle of blankets in his arms, could not be, was _not_ a baby. No. Francis Bonnefoy did not get cheated on!

He dragged his friends to the side of the building, watching with his eyes narrowed, a frown on his face as he watched Arthur drive away. It was then that the trio made their plan to keep a close eye on Arthur, for the rest of the day. Francis would get answers at dinner.

* * *

For the next few hours, they all played their part. Since Antonio worked in a restaurant opposite to the library Arthur worked in, he would keep a close eye on the doors, watching for the Englishman to leave. Gilbert would try and get some gossip from Felix, his neighbour who seemed to know _everything_, hoping to find something. Francis did what any boyfriend worried about cheating would do; he went through the house. He went through emails, Facebook, Arthur's post, anything he could. Nothing.

This was going to be harder than he thought. Around 4pm, he gave Gilbert a call, redirecting their plans. A direct confrontation would be better. He told Gilbert to leave it, getting Antonio to do the same too. If there were no leads, Arthur must have planned this out well. Sometimes, just suspicion was enough to catch someone out.

* * *

When Arthur arrived home, Francis was coming back from Antonio's. He went there after the Spaniard finished work, wanting some comfort and courage for what he was about to do. After all, this could finish their entire relationship.

Arthur was crouched in the kitchen, placing the bundle down on the floor in front of a saucer of milk when Francis slammed the front door shut behind him. Arthur and the bundle jumped, the Englishman's head whipping around to glare at him.

"Be bloody careful, will you! I've got a-"

"I know what you've got, you ass!" Francis screamed, angry at the instant he saw the other trying to be assertive. How dare he, after what he had done! The Frenchman stormed over, his arms folded. "You went and got some bitch _pregnant,_ didn't you?!"

Arthur blinked in confusion, his face blank. After a moment or two he chuckled, shaking his head. "Firstly Francis, you and I both know that I'm gay. Why on Earth would I get a woman pregnant?" He patted his boyfriend's leg, watching as the anger faded from his handsome face, replaced by slight shock and confusion- and was that embarrassment?

"Secondly, you should let me finish. _This_ is what I've got." He gently pulled back the blankets off the bundle, revealing a grey tabby cat, who was happily drinking the milk. His face softened into a smile, patting the cat's head. "He's hurt, and I always wanted a cat. It was my manager at work who gave me him. Okay?" He looked back up, fighting laughter and the pure bewilderment.

"What…?"

Arthur sighed. "My manager's cat got hurt and she couldn't look after him any more. So, she gave him from me. Weren't you saying you wanted something to look after?" He grinned, fully knowing Francis meant adopting a child. Oh well. A cat would do for now.

Arthur scooped up the cat, cradling his small body as he stood. "His name's William. Look, his foot is hurt." He pointed at the cat's paw, which had a bandage round it. "It got cut and he can't walk very well, and… Well, we can afford the vet's bills, can't we?" Although Arthur may not have an amazing job, Francis earned enough for both of them; the only reason Arthur worked was in case anything happened.

"Yes, we can." Francis stepped to Arthur's side, sliding an arm around his waist. "I'm sorry for shouting at you." He pressed a light kiss to his forehead, fingers scratching behind the cat's ear. "It seemed like you were cheating on me… Why were you acting so weird this morning?"

"Oh… Well… I thought you'd be mad if I came home without a cat without discussing it, but I didn't know how to bring it up. I just… I really love cats. Would… I know you want a child, but what's wrong with a cat…?" He trailed off, rambling. Francis gave a light laugh, kissing his cheek.

"Nothing is. We can wait for a child, for until we both want one. It seems you do have a heart after all~" He grinned, tilting Arthur's face up to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "I love you, my little cat lover."

Arthur smiled, looking away as a blush dusted his cheeks. "I… I love you too. Now, no doubt you told your friends I was cheating. Don't you think you should go and clear my name?"

Francis groaned, hugging Arthur briefly before leaving the room. He really should learn not to overreact to things. A cat was definitely better than someone else's baby.


End file.
